


Mamihlapinatapai

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night suddenly feels too cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mamihlapinatapai

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ October 9, 2011.

( _Mamihlapinatapai - (noun) - a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin._ )  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Charles is standing outside.   
  
Erik can see him from the window of the kitchen. It’s night, well past dinner. The others are either doing some late evening training or procrastinating somewhere. Erik doesn’t often bother trying to know. He can hear the distant din of voices, in any case.   
  
Upon finding Charles, Erik is only half-surprised to see him standing outside. He often does so at night, especially during the summer. Charles says there’s comfort in being outside, seeing the endless stretch of trees and thoughts. It goes on forever, he once said, smiled up at Erik and insisted that it was fascinating.   
  
Erik is still not so sure.   
  
If Erik ever were to tease him, Charles would just offer that quirk of a smile, that arrogant little lilt of his lips that tells Erik everything without a single word. That teasing kind of moment when the mild-mannered, distilled Charles hints at the easy manipulation underneath, the kind of superiority that Charles pretends isn’t there.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
(Charles tries not to let his mind linger on thoughts that will lead nowhere, has learned to lock away thoughts before he can broadcast them to others.   
  
It’s better not to think about what can’t happen.)   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Standing outside, Erik knows Charles is merely counting constellations, looking up at the stars. This is what he always does when he strays outside—left in a relative silence, little dots of light that do not talk back, that have no thoughts. Sometimes it looks like Charles is speaking, though, the lights in his eyes. As if the sky will respond, beam down to him and color his face a rosy red as if to say to him, _yes, we’re here, come find us._   
  
Charles can pinpoint the red Mars and the sparkling Venus with just a flick of his finger, as if the planets themselves are sending out thoughts for him to locate and adapt to, his mind ceaselessly encasing and enfolding over everything and everyone.  
  
Even now, standing outside the door and looking out over the sky—Venus hangs heavy over the satellite Erik moved before—Charles is searching, and Erik can feel the pressure of another mind pressing up against his own—  
  
Never intruding, but present—  
  
There’s comfort in that, even if Erik’s initial response is to shy away from the feel and touch of another human being so infinitely close to him. He trusts Charles, though, and he knows that Charles knows that he trusts him, too.   
  
That’s what matters.   
  
So the familiar pressure remains, but does not breech. There’s hardly a space to breathe between the expanse of Charles’ and his own minds, and Erik suddenly realizes that perhaps Charles is looking up at a place that not even he can reach because there is comfort in that, too—  
  
Not to be bombarded by thoughts that are not his own. Rather to be encased in a dome of glass and, perhaps, remain blissfully in solitude. If only for a few moments.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
(But even if he tells himself not to think of it, sometimes Charles can’t help it. Sometimes his thoughts get the best of him. Sometimes he can’t help but hope.  
  
Hope. It’s a beautiful, and painful, thing to hold onto.)  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Charles inhales a shaky breath, and Erik glances down at him, eyes away from the sky and focused back down to earth. The dim light from the kitchen behind them casts long shadows over Charles’ face and his expression is startlingly soft—always has been soft, Erik reminds himself.   
  
“They’re interesting to look at,” Charles says, as if resuming a conversation, as if Erik had been speaking the entire time and not for the first time Erik does wonder if Charles peeked into his thoughts. Charles offers a shaky smile, as if something is weighing down on him, but Erik is not the mind reader here.   
  
Erik says nothing.  
  
Charles rolls one shoulder, as if he’s about to move closer and second-guesses himself. “Each one is so different. It reminds me of Cerebro, actually.”   
  
Erik hums a response, but still speaks no words.   
  
This suits Charles fine, Erik thinks. He’s never needed articulated words to carry on a conversation, after all. “All little dots of light, but each one so much larger than you can imagine, each one so different from another. Each one with the ability to smile, to laugh, to live.”  
  
“The stars.”  
  
“Yes.” Charles smiles, low and dim in the night. “Of course.”   
  
“Really, Charles,” Erik says, voice drawling out in resigned disbelief at such childishness.   
  
It’s almost charming, too, but Erik does not broadcast this thought. That isn’t something that Charles needs to hear.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
(Sometimes he can’t help his thoughts. But he can help his movements. He knows he’ll never be the one to move, never be the one to even breathe a hint of his inner thoughts.)   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Charles laughs. Erik isn’t sure what about it is funny, or even if the laughter from Charles’ is one of amusement, or just to fill in the silence.   
  
When he meets Charles’ eyes, Erik decides it is the latter. Charles’ smile softens further, and Erik’s eyes go fuzzy for just a moment, and his mind seems to spill over to meet Charles, and it’s him pushing up against Charles’ mind instead of the other way around.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
(Sometimes the urge to read Erik’s thoughts are so strong, to search out even a hint of emotions that could mean that it isn’t one-sided, that isn’t hopeless.   
  
But he respects Erik too much to pull through his mind for something he can use as justification. All he can hold onto is hope. Hope that maybe, someday, he’ll be able to know for sure without invading that privacy.)   
  
  
\---  
  
  
There’s something soothing about the way Charles’ presence fills in each little crease previously left empty in Erik’s mind. Like liquid searching out the container, to fill it all up and press against the walls.   
  
Just an excuse to touch—  
  
Erik closes his eyes, lets the sensation rush over him.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
(There’s something beautiful about the stars. Sometimes all Charles wants to do is cry, but he knows better.   
  
And sometimes he can’t help it. His own memories flicker now in unison with the ones he’s seen in Erik’s own mind. Memories in tandem, achingly familiar and achingly unknowable.)   
  
  
\---  
  
  
When the strange sensation of unmoving movement ends, he opens his eyes and finds Charles just looking at him.   
  
_Is something bothering you?_ Erik thinks—asks—because he’s not sure how to place Charles’ expressions anymore. Erik thinks it’s remarkable that after years of being able to read and understand other people on a level no one else can, it’s understandable that Charles has learned to school his expressions to the point that they are nearly indecipherable. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating, any less surprising—  
  
 _No,_ comes the response, chiming in his mind like a crisp bell, reverberating before fading away.   
  
Erik feels the bubble of agitation in the pit of his gut.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
(There’s so much that Charles can never say. He knows it’s unfair. He knows so much—almost everything—about Erik, and yet he himself has locked away the things he can’t stand to have someone else know.)   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Really, nothing,” Erik says out loud. _You’ve been distant for days—_  
  
Charles shakes his head, just a little.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
(The worst part is the fear.)   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Erik knows his agitation is visible now, can feel it in the knit of his eyebrows, in the slight tension in his knuckles.   
  
Charles sighs out, closing his eyes, fingers at his temple as he absorbs and exudes, thinking on his own but still present in Erik’s mind. Erik attempts to think of mundane things, of anything, and not worry—it’s hard not to worry.  
  
But it’s also hard to keep worrying, because Charles is exuding calm at him, getting him to calm down—  
  
And he hates it when Charles does that. He wants to feel his own emotions, not the ones that Charles thinks he should feel.  
  
The calmness evaporates immediately and Erik faces the full flush of his own frustration in one wave.   
  
_I apologize,_ comes Charles’ voice.   
  
“It’s fine,” Erik says, quietly.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
(“You’re not alone, Erik,” is what Charles told Erik once. How badly he wants to explain just what he means by that, how badly he wishes it were in more ways than one, how badly he wishes to peek into his mind and find the reassurance that Charles isn’t alone, either.)   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Charles opens his eyes and fixes his heavy blue gaze upon him. Erik meets it evenly.   
  
“It’s fine,” Charles repeats, and for half a moment his expression softens.   
  
But neither of them move.   
  
The night suddenly feels far too cold.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
(He thinks that if things were the way he wished it, it’d be inevitable—it’d be as easy and as solid as a brush of lips, the ghosting of fingers against skin.   
  
Things aren’t the way he wished it, though.)   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Erik’s looking at Charles, always has.   
  
But the worst part is the fear.  
  
He can’t quite look away, though he thinks he should—something fists around the base of his throat. The worst part is the fear. The worst part is the fear that Erik hates to have at all, hates to think himself so weak, so different.   
  
It’s already—  
  
  
\---  
  
  
(It’s already—)  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Their eyes flicker together, but neither one manages to say a word.   
  
The stars remain.


End file.
